


selenophilia

by fuckyujo



Category: B: The Beginning (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death (Izanami), Grieving, Guilt, Multi, Non-Binary Izanami, Other, Post-Canon, Slight Canon Divergence, Slight Poetry, i use they/them for izanami, i wrote this omw to school, kokunami were like friends who made love but always lost touch, let’s pretend the extra scene with kirisame doesn’t exist, pure angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 19:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyujo/pseuds/fuckyujo
Summary: in which koku has an interesting fascination towards the moon, four years later.





	selenophilia

**Author's Note:**

> interesting take of me trying to write something that isn’t actually the kokunami ep. 2-3 fight scene. i rewatched the series a few days ago and i’m glad that i only got a few mistakes regarding the canonicity of the anime.
> 
> also like,,; izanami’s dead dead here,,, koku’s killed them already,,,
> 
> a little ooc for koku’s character but ehh

for some odd reason, he once thought of home when he looked up to the moon, and _god_, did it feel so right at that precise moment.

it all made sense. questions were answered, confusion vanished, there was nothing of bother and he and the night sky were one. an unidentified feeling lingered inside him, and rather than feeling dumb as to not knowing what it is, it made him feel delusional, incomplete; completely insubstantial, unstable — he longed for someone to hold him, to love him, to be with him at that exact moment.

he couldn’t understand why. everyone, everything — it was all fine, perfect, and yet there’s something, someone, that messed that order up...

... and it took koku a big while to realize that that _someone_ wasn’t a villain at their plotting brink, and neither was it a supernatural force that would’ve brought danger to the city he’s now sworn to protect.

no, it was someone he should’ve chosen to forget. it was someone who had been long gone from the scene. it was someone who he could never forget, even if he had tried.

hair as white as a full moon in the fields, eyes as crystalline as the brook’s water behind the jaula blanca institute. face as pale as a veil with no meaning. a name that was of a goddess.

_izanami_, he breathes out. he laughs wryly. who would’ve thought?

the sacrifice, the one-sided bloom that was izanami and him, the night where he had thought; knew, even, that he was the only one, and yet someone with a sword for a leg had stood in front of him, unwithering and beautiful and everything koku had despised.

_had_.

and now they’re back and they’re not leaving his mind, even as the full moon’s luminescence almost blinded him. he sighs and lies on his back. the ground was cold, but the water he had fought izanami on was colder. he felt empty, but holding izanami’s corpse in his hands felt emptier, yet he didn’t know that at first. he sighs as the wildcard excuse of a lover conquered his thoughts, ever dominant and wacky and just unstable.

he could’ve held izanami’s hand like he had always wanted to, but he didn’t.

_do those kind of bodies decompose faster or do they even decompose?_ koku slaps himself for the question. most of the market makers are actually humans. were. that’s enough reason to respect them when they’re not in the battlefield. he’s known when he fought—

_snap out of it, _he thinks, sitting up and letting the cool breeze hit his face painfully. _snap out of it. everything_.

he swears he feels hands holding his face, oh-so-delicate and careful in its traces, the wind wiping away the tears he hadn’t noticed had fallen.

he seemed to hear whispers. _please stop this delusion._ he hears the wind whisper to him, _i’m sorry. i’m so sorry._

koku eases and lets his tears be wiped by the hands that were of the wind, to be comforted by the human whispers that were of the breeze, and he _refuses_, doesn’t _dare_ think that it’s all _them_.

the black winged king grieves, for the first time in four years, and he just wants to be held by izanami again, _please_.

_i’m sorry i couldn’t be better._

it was exhilarating, knowing how izanami was still there. it was depressing, knowing how izanami’s just in everywhere he sees. it was so painful, so sorrowful were his insides, desperate to cling on the breeze that he had thought would give him cold comfort, but had brought needles to his heart instead.

he thought he loved the moon. he thought he loved its radiance and the way it shined even though it was merely a reflection of the sun, but it turns out he had been loving what izanami was to him. what izanami is to him.

they’re like the moon, in so many ways. closer to him than canopus. enticingly different in terms of phases. so worthy of the quietness that is his way of love.

koku cries. it had been so long. he’s tired.

but he doesn’t stop wanting, wishing, hoping; he’s willing to do anything to bring back izanami and talk to them and tell them everything he’s wanted to tell them.

the small crush he gained after entering the institute, the little intimate acts of protection when gilbert’s men invaded them, the bricks of jealousy thrown, _i just wanted to protect you, i don’t want you to forget me, touch canopus_—

** _please take me away._ **

he grieves, so sadly and heartbreakingly, sobbing into the breeze that’s began to embrace him, but it was him who had his sleeved arms wrapped around him, and the breeze was nothing but the nightly wind brought by the approaching winter.

izanami was gone, and he cries because of it. he’s too late. it’s all his fault. he’s too pained to think, but he doesn’t care.

he just wants izanami back.


End file.
